Mad Max: The Long Road's End
by Lewibaton
Summary: An aging Max has spent his twilight years travelling with the perilous burden of an unlikely companion; a child. In the years they have spent together, the Wasteland veteran has molded The Girl into a Road Warrior in her own right. Now, as the pair continue their journey into the unfamiliar expanse of Dystopia, they'll face the very worst the Wasteland can throw at them, as one.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE: SMOKE ON THE HORIZON

The crows encircled the crash site like a black cloud of doom. You'd never find this many birds in the one place, lest blood had been spilt.

Three vehicles sat hunched together in a loose circle. Above them, the carrion birds mimicked the shape to form a feathery halo. Two of the vehicles were small, unprotected buggies. Good for when you needed to travel fast and light. Useless any other time.

The third was a large semi-trailer. It had no carriage attached, but it was the kinda vehicle good for hauling fuel, scrap or anything else one could lay claim to. Least it would'a been with a couple'a muscles guardin' it's flanks. The buggies weren't up t' the task.

All three of the vehicles had been trashed in the fight. One o' the buggies lay on it's side. The ground was littered with glass, scrap metal and seat padding. The victors had been thorough in their search, not wantin' t' miss anything.

Once they were done, whoever did this had put the cars t' the torch. Black smoke rose from the three wrecks high up into the empty blue sky. There was a saying here in the Wasteland; Burn what ya can't carry and break ya can't burn. No sense in leaving something for another fella to find and use against you.

It wasn't the smoke that had originally attracted Max. It had been the crows.

Far from the carnage that littered the expanse, Max Rockatansky lay flat on his stomach high on the crest of a dune surveying the devastation before him. An old pair of binoculars were pressed against the wrinkled skin around his eyelids. The lenses were scratched from a lifetime of careless use, but the one job he needed them for, they did well.

He'd been lyin' on said dune for close t' thirty minutes. At least, he'd counted to five hundred four times. He reckoned that added up to about what thirty minutes used t' mean.

The wind blew hard up on his perch and the sand it moved across the dunes had already started t' cover him. Orange sand now covered his feet, over which he wore a pair of leather boots. These had originally been black, but decades later time, sand and dirt had dyed them a dark brown. The rough, but strong leather of his pants had been worn smooth.

Over his left knee he had fashioned a makeshift brace from leather buckles and scrap metal. Max had long since stopped cursing it's incessant creaking. Housed in a simple leather holster on his right thigh was a modified double-barrel shotgun, customised with a shortened barrel and pistol-like grip for the stock.

His jacket was threadbare, but still leather. Exactly what you wanted out on the road. Protects ya hide in a roll and keeps yer sides safe from shanks. The jacket had been reinforced in various places with loose pieces of leather to provide additional protection to the neck, elbows and kidneys. The right sleeve had been removed a long time ago. To compensate for this, he'd stitched another thick piece of padded leather over his shoulder to guard it.

Grey streaks ran through Max's dark hair and the cropped beard that covered the bottom half of his lined faced had a generous sprinkling of grey. His age and facial hair gave him the appearance of an old guard dog, not quite as fierce and intimidating as he once was, but too stubborn t' stand down.

Max slowly breathed in and out through his nose, careful not t' disturb the sand around him. No matter how empty the flattened land in front of him may look, the slightest movement could give away his position. The tiniest trickle o' sand sliding down the dune would be enough for a watcher t' risk loosing a shot.

To most blokes, smoke on the horizon was a clear sign t' head away. Max was of this mind as well, but it was the sight'a the crows that had drawn him t' the battle ground. A crash could burn for a while, enough time for a daring scavenger t' quickly pick through any remains to find something that been forgotten or undiscovered.

Birds on the other hand, signified a fresh kill. And arriving while the crows still formed their dark wreath around the crash meant first dibs on anything that might'a been left behind.

That is, unless someone else was watching too.

It was unlikely that who ever had made this scene would be watchin' for scavengers. After creatin' such an obvious landmark, they would have taken their spoils and booked.

No, if anyone was about, they'd be like him. Watching and waiting. Wonderin' if the risk was worth it.

Finally, Max decided it was.

Carefully pulling his feet out from under the sand, Max began to creep backwards on his stomach. When he got ten paces down the dune, he slowly straightened up and jogged the rest of way down.

Parked about fifty meters away was his car. It was covered in a layer of dirt and dust and the panelling was dinted and scratched, but it's majesty was plain t' see. If one looked closely, they'd see it had been adorned with both a glossy black paint as well as matte black. Black on black. Like the figurehead of a proud warship, the engine jutted up above the bonnet. It was a V8, one of the last.

Max quickly slid in behind the wheel, tossed the binoculars into the passenger's seat and turned the key, awakening the beast. It roared loudly as it was brought t' life, like an ancient predator sounding it's challenge.

The engine clunked as Max shifted inta gear and in a burst of black smoke and a spray'a sand, it shot forward across the flat earth.

Despite the sense of calm he felt driving the car, Max knew he was firin' a signal off t' any around him. He'd approached the smoke slowly, in a low gear, so that no one would hear him coming. Then, he'd kept watch for a while t' see if anyone had gotten there first. So far, if there was anyone watchin' for scavengers, he reckoned they didn't know he was there. Aside from the smoke and the crows, there'd been no movement from the wreckage. The dune he'd watched from was the only raised area in the flat expanse of land the cars sat in. So if there had been anyone around, he would have spotted them.

Max wasn't about t' take that chance. Secrecy had gone out the window, the car had seen t' that. As he shifted into top gear, the roar of the engine echoed out over the land sounding their approach. Now he had to be fast. Get in and check the cars, then break off and get as far away as possible.

As he approached the vehicles, Max was acutely aware of how exposed he was making himself. There was no natural cover. The buggies and the truck sat on flat ground with nothin' around t' hide them. Why would they have stopped here of all places?

The formation of the three rides confused him as well. He couldn't fathom as t' why they were sittin' in a circle. Maybe the people who'd been hit had drawn them together, trying to protect themselves in a huddle from their attackers. Maybe the raiders had simply surrounded them and forced them to group up, trappin' them here, against one-another.

Max stopped about thirty paces from the wreckage and flicked the muscle car down into neutral. He sat there listening for a moment, as the seat vibrated under him and the engine purred softly.

There was no sound of another vehicle approaching. Seems if there was anyone else about, they hadn't broken cover at his appearance.

Leaving the engine running, Max opened the door and slowly stepped out'a the car. He unhooked a fuel can from the rear of the vehicle and shook it. There was a light slosh from inside, but it was practically empty. His eyes drifted to the large fuel tank that sat in the back of his car.

The boot lid and rear window had been removed a long time ago to accommodate it's presence. The plastic tank sat secured in the boot, half inside the car and half out. It was running dangerously low. As Max had decided, he had t' take the risk.

Taking the can with him, Max moved quickly towards the wreckage of the three vehicles. His eyes moved rapidly between them, lookin' for any sign'a movement. The crows continued to circle above, cawing indignantly if one of them passed through the black smoke that still rose from the site.

Close up, Max could see how thorough the raiding party had been in strippin' the vehicles bare. They'd been almost ravenous in their search. The seats had been torn out and ripped open. The panelling of the truck looked as if the raiders had tried to beat it in with clubs, though that may have jus' been for fun. He could only see one body, lyin' in the centre of the carnage.

Max passed the buggy that lay on it's side as he entered the circle. It looked like it had been rammed when it was turned over. The driver's side was caved inwards. If anyone had been sitting' in the seat when it was hit, they would'a been crushed for sure.

The stench of death lay heavy around him. Max was no stranger t' scenes such as this, yet his mind began to betray him and imagine things around him that weren't there. The shadows of the crows flitted across the sand as they moved against the sun above him. Their black shapes seemed to grow and change and they moved with him as he approached the truck.

It was no good. He wouldn't be scavenging any fuel from this wreck. The victors in the fight had seen to that. Gettin' close t' check inside was impossible as well. The entire cabin was engulfed in flame. He didn't have the luxury o' time to wait for the fire to burn out, if it left anything at all once it was done.

Dropping the fuel can, Max began to shift through the debris that littered the site. Wooden crates, hessian bags and battered suitcases had been strewn over the ground. Inside there was mostly clothes and other useless personal effects. The monotony of the everyday items might've frustrated another scavenger, but Max pressed on, moving from one container t' the next. Anything the raiders might have missed, anything, no matter how small, would make this worth while.

Most likely, this had been a caravan of people looking for somewhere t' settle. Not enough t' their names to barter for some decent protection, so they had t' settle for the buggies as cover. It was plain t' see, it hadn't been enough.

Max didn't begrudge the bandits torching the vehicles. That was just them being thorough. He would'a done the same.

As he moved to a suitcase next t' the lone body the raiders had left behind, Max's eyes were drawn t' look at her.

Her bronzed skin attested to a life lived under the harsh sun. Her body was covered in blood and her long, dark hair was wet with it. Several jagged ribs stuck out her side and through the rough spun shift she wore. One of her arms was a mess of bone and cartilage.

Max flung the suitcase open, but quickly straightened up again. Inside there was only blankets. He'd lingered in this spot too long t' search through them.

As he turned to leave, his gaze drifted over t' the dead woman once again. Something about why she was the only one left nagged at his mind.

She couldn't'a been alone. There was very little blood around the caravan. The rest of the people must've been taken by the raiders for scrap. Or worse.

Max's brow furrowed, as he tried t' work out why they'd trashed this woman and left her behind. It was plain t' see she was healthy. As healthy as one could be in this wretched land anyway. But a Full Life, to be sure. Young enough, strong too. His eyes settled on the wrecked buggy that lay on it's side. Maybe she'd been in that.

A small smile crept over Max's face. The raiders would have been cursin' themselves over ruining such a fine prize. In the state she was in, she wasn't worth the trouble of hauling her back to a slab.

Max's smile faded as he began to hear the whispers in the back of his mind. His vision blurred and when he blinked t' clear his eyes, they were fixed on the corpse below him. He couldn't turn away. He willed his body to move, screamed internally for his legs t' take him away from the scene of death, but t' no avail. Max's body refused to answer his plea, leavin' him stranded standing over the woman. The whispers grew louder and the shadows around the battle site lengthened and moved inwards towards him.

His body was trembling and sweat ran down the side of his head in fast rivers as he stood rooted t' the spot. For a moment, it seemed like her eyelids fluttered and struggled to open.

Why now? There wasn't anythin' special about this woman. She was just one of many corpses that had lain on the road before him. He hadn't even killed her himself.

When the voices in his head rose to a shout, Max finally managed t' tear his eyes away from the woman.

They faded into silence as he wiped his watery eyes on the back of his hand. The sharp smell of the leather glove that covered it filled his nose and he inhaled deeply, focusin' on the strong scent.

Takin' several slow breaths, Max steeled himself before lookin' back at her body.

She was dead. She hadn't moved. She was dead, but it wasn't any fault of his and he didn't kill her himself.

Her blood had stained the orange sand around her a dark red. It was already beginning t' dry.

Max looked up at the sky. The sun had moved closer to the horizon then he'd realised. He'd lingered in this spot fer too long and had nothin' t' show for it. It was time to leave.

He didn't spare the corpse another glance as he retrieved the fuel can. The only sound was the soft rustling of the flames that still burned among the vehicles and the creak of his brace as he left the scene. Even the voices in his head had quietened.

Max breathed calmly as he passed the woman one last time, his eyes fixed on his car. As he walked away from the carnage behind him, he heard someone call out to him.

'Please...'

The can clanged loudly as it hit the ground. Max whipped around, the shotgun already in his hand.

He stood at the edge of the circle of vehicles, his eyes moving quickly, searchin' for the source of the sound. It hadn't been the voices in his head. They'd quietened themselves. He had definitely heard the sound in his ears.

Something moved at the edge of his vision and his gaze snapped back to the woman who lay on the ground. Her body twitched and her eyelids had opened t' look at him.

She had called out. The Corpse had spoken to him.

Breathing quickly, Max slowly approached her. His eyes didn't stray from her, not even blinking. He held the shotgun out before him and kept it pointed at the Corpse. His arm was straight and it didn't shake.

Max moved to stand over the Corpse and kept the shotgun pointed at her face. He held it in such a tight grip that his knuckles began to ache, but he didn't let his finger slip on the trigger. Only one of the barrels was loaded.

As he stared down at her, the Corpse moved her good hand and reached out towards the suitcase that lay beside her, the one that Max hadn't bothered t' search through. Darting forward, Max snatched one of the blankets off the top. He recoiled and nearly fell over backwards, quickly straitening up again, the gun now pointed at the mess of blankets within the suitcase.

Something hidden amongst it's contents had moved.

'Please...' the Corpse whispered again, blood leaking from the side of her mouth.

Max's eyes darted between her and the small pile'a blankets, slowly movin' now that they had been disturbed. He sucked air rapidly in and out through his nose as he slowly bent his knees and cautiously reached out with his free hand towards the suitcase once more.

Moving fast, he grabbed the blankets in a handful and flung them behind him. He was already back up on his feet again before his mind had time to register what he was seeing.

Lyin' curled up in a tight ball within the suitcase, was a child. A child. An actual, living child. A girl.

Max's body stiffened as he beheld her. He couldn't breath. His throat was workin' furiously, trying to pump air into his lungs. It was only when his head started t' ache and his vision began to swim, did his mouth finally open and he began t' take deep, ragged breaths.

The child slowly stretched out and sat up on the blankets. She was young, very young, maybe only a year and a half old, but already a mess of dark hair had grown upon her head. As he stared, she raised her eyes t' look up at him. Neither recognition nor understanding was reflected in them, but they were bright eyes. Black, wide and none of the madness that plagued the Wasteland shone in them.

Max looked back at the woman. The girl was the Corpse's daughter. The relation was plain t' see. The girl shared her thick, dark hair. Her skin, though pale, had the same smooth texture. What madness had possessed her mother t' bring a child into a world like this one?

The false hope of the whole situation choked Max's mind. The people in the caravan tryin' to find a better life some place where no one would bother them. Takin' the risk of having a child. Madness had many faces in the Wasteland. This was a delusional kind. Dangerous for different reasons.

The girl stirred and languidly rubbed her eyes with the back'a one hand. Max couldn't believe the bandits had missed her. Before him sat a diamond in the Wasteland. A child like this, a full life, was worth more than any scrap one could haul off from a wreck. Had they merely been careless?

Now she lay at the feet of the Road Warrior, his for the taking. The right buyer would pay an ocean of guzzeline for such a creature. That in mind, the first person he offered the girl to might put one between his eyes just t' get their hands on her. Was any potential profit he could gain from trading her worth the risk?

No, better to leave her here t' die. If he walked away now, he might not have gained any potential profit, but neither would he have lost anything. The next scavenger would come along and find her corpse and curse their luck, but that was their problem.

Max was jerked out of his musings as the Corpse spoke again. 'Please,' she whispered a third time, the volume of her voice risin' slightly, desperation echoing through it.

Her face was twisted in agony and tears leaked from her eyes. One of the carrion birds finally swooped down and landed on her chest. It regarded her with one greedy eye, before it plunged it's beak down inta the soft flesh of her breast and tore out a chunk. The bird swallowed loudly, but Max made no move t' push it away.

Slowly, a new idea formed in Max's mind. Now he knew what the Corpse asked of him. His mouth set into a hard line and he shook his head resolutely.

'No,' he tried to tell her, but no sound came out of his mouth. How long had it been since he'd spoken a word? He'd had no need. There was no one t' talk to. No need t' talk to anyone.

'No,' Max said again, this time managin' t' choke out a rasping whisper, 'No way'.

He growled deep in his throat and shook his head again.

The Corpse mouthed words he couldn't hear but he was already turning away. He pushed the shotgun back into it's holster and left the fuel can where it lay on the ground.

As Max walked jerkily back to the car, the voices began to whisper in his head again. He saw the shadows amongst the wreckage of the cars take shape and call out to him. They stood on either side of the path that led back to his ride. Dead, every one of them. Yet there they were, for his eyes only.

Some spoke softly to him. Others called out for help, begging for him t' save them. Yet still more twisted their faces inta sneers, yelled insults at him and spat on the ground he walked. Their shadows grew long and crossed over the sand in front of him, painting the path black. The crows seemed to be cawing louder and louder, but they sounded so far away.

All the while, Max kept his gaze fixed on the car.

The car.

If he could just reach the car. Once he was behind the wheel, he could lose himself in the roar of the V8 engine. He didn't need any extra baggage. The car was all he needed. He certainly wasn't looking for any kind of redemption.

Just before he reached it, a new figure formed, this time it stood directly in his path. It was a rare and low move by his demons, but he wouldn't let it stop him.

As the woman spoke to him, he closed his eyes and willed himself t' shut out her words. He pushed his hands through the empty air, relieved but somewhat disappointed as his hands passed through the woman before him.

His fingers brushed against the side'a the car and he quickly slipped inside into the driver's seat.

In a rare occurrence, he fumbled with the gears and the car lurched forward while the engine ground loudly in indignation. A second later, the gear connected and the V8 sprung forward.

Max sat forward in the seat, low over the wheel. The loud whir of the engine thundered through his head and the calls and shouts of the ghosts behind him were drowned out. Max screwed up his eyes and put his foot down, focusin' on the pressure in his leg keepin' the pedal pressed.

He looked up again and drew a sharp breath in as he slammed his foot on the brake and swerved the car to the right. A jagged rock jutted up from the sand before him. Too much was showing to drive over and Max had noticed it too late.

He managed to turn the car away from the rock at the last moment. The car's tyres whirred as they skidded over the soft sand tryin' t' find a grip. The car sunk deep on it's suspension at the sudden change in movement and threatened t' go inta a roll before it stopped moving.

Max tensed as the car came to a halt. The suspension had done it's job and they hadn't rolled. The engine spluttered and died at the abrupt stop.

Max cursed his carelessness. It was a stupid mistake. Stupid, stupid, stupid! It had almost cost him his life. He slammed his head into the steering wheel again and again. Around him he could hear the whispers of his past as the ghosts began t' close around him once again.

He looked up and stared through the wind-shield at them. Blood ran down his forehead into his eyes from where he'd beaten it against the wheel, blurring his vision. They encircled the car and hammered against it's sides. Max quickly shut his eyes and started the engine again. He revved the car in neutral, trying to drown out the clamour in the fast whirring of the V8.

 _What is it? What do they want from me!_

He almost yelled these questions at them, but he knew that shoutin' at the ghosts would only make it worse.

His head was thumping with the yells of the people around him, or it may have just been his own blood pounding in his ears. The roar of the engine rose again and again and again, but the ghosts didn't stop.

Finally, Max couldn't stand it anymore. With a strangled yell, he slammed the stick into first and spun around back t'wards the wreckage of the three cars, salty tears mixin' with the blood in his eyes.

...

The car door slammed shut with a loud bang as Max stalked over t' the circle of vehicles.

The young girl had crawled over t' where her mother lay on the ground. She playfully grabbed handfuls of sand, the blood dying her fingers red.

Without looking at the Corpse, he lifted the girl up, wrapped her in one of the blankets and carried her back t' the car. There was only the smallest of whispers as he turned his back on the scene of destruction.

The blood still pounding in his ears, he dumped the girl roughly into the passenger seat, then resumed his place behind the wheel and sped off, not caring in which direction he headed.

Max pressed his foot flat against the accelerator, pushing it t' top speed and as the car's engine roared with power, it carried the pair away from the death and the unforgiving ghosts behind them.


	2. Chapter 1

1\. 13 Years Later

 _My name is Max. My world is a long road of sand, dirt and asphalt, the never-ending roar of a V8 engine. In the Wasteland, my name is known. Wanderers speak of it in hushed voices around a tiny campfire, a beacon in the night for the lost. The crazies curse it while they hide in their dark lairs, vomiting insults in their garbled tongues. And the warriors that follow the road behind me bow their heads in respect, and shout it like a war cry._

 _Long after I'm gone, my name will be remembered. What will those who remain say of me? Was I a dead eyed killer, with a fast trigger finger? A driver, the likes of which these lands rarely see? A Road Warrior who always followed a righteous path? My name is Max, and my name will never be forgotten._

...

Black exhaust burst out from the line of pipes that ran under the car and curved upwards along it's side. The V8's engine whirred as it sent power coursing through the car in a monotonous flurry'a tiny, rapid motions.

Max Rockatansky sat at the wheel, both hands grasping it firmly, his boot pushed against the accelerator with measured pressure.

The barren landscape stretched out ahead of him as far as the eye could see under the midday sun. The expanse of rough, red dirt was only broken by the occasional tuft of dried grass or rocky outcrop. The path the car barrelled down was no true road, but one that had been beat'n into the dirt year after year by an immeasurable number of tyres. Max's eyes flitted briefly to the side mirror, chancin' a glance behind before quickly returning his gaze to the road ahead.

In the passenger seat on his left, sat The Girl. Max had removed the factory issued seat long ago and replaced it with a small, black plastic chair. It was the kind that small children used in classrooms at school, back when there still were schools. And children.

Despite her slender frame, the seat was too small fer The Girl t' sit comfortably. Rat skins sewn together served as the padding and it lacked any kind of head rest. It was positioned further forward than the driver's seat, preventin' The Girl from stretching her legs out. It sat lower too, the plastic base anchored where the passenger seat had once been. Her right hand lay in her lap while she rested the knuckles of her left against her jaw and leant her arm on the car door, a bored expression on her face. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail tied at the base of her skull, leavin' a few loose strands t' frame the side of her face. A long strip of scarlet silk was wrapped around her head in a wide band, tucked in at the back. Over the silk, she wore an old-fashioned pair of aviation goggles with wide lenses, the elastic strip pulled tight as they were only jus' too big for her head.

From the behind the black muscle car, the sounds of the pursuing engines drew closer. The drivers of the three vehicles blasted their horns after the pair, while their passengers leant out'a the windows, hootin' and cheerin', revelling in the thrill of the chase.

The V8 could move like it was the wind given wheels, but it was better suited fer hard roads. The raiders' cars were modified fer off road driving and had the advantage on the rough, desert terrain. Two of the vehicles gained ahead of the third and moved t' either side'a the V8. A pick up truck with a faded yellow paint job and dinted panelling slowly pulled up on the car's left. The driver looked over at The Girl. Their gaze met and she could see the madness reflected in his eyes.

His skin was stained with dirt and grime, and his hair was matted with crude oil. His mouth opened in a manic grin to reveal a row of stubby teeth, brown and rott'n. He leaned out of the window and yelled somethin' indiscernible at her, his voice drowned out in the roar of the engines. The Girl regarded him coolly through half hooded eyes. A moment later, she slowly extended the middle finger of her left hand and laid it against her cheek. The driver gave a wild whoop of laughter and stuck his head back inside the cabin,sounding the ute's horn in a long, loud note. With a sigh, The Girl sat up in her seat and stared forward.

On the driver's side of the V8, another car was creepin' up on the right. Max watched it approach in the side mirror, and when the car drew level with his own, he glanced over at the occupants. The other car was a two seater buggy. Built light with a superb set of shocks, it was the perfect car for bouncing along the desert terrain. Basically a frame set on wheels, with an engine stuck on the back. It lacked doors and panelling and a leather tarp lashed over the top was the only cover from the sun's rays. Sacrificing any kind of defence, it's superior mobility made up fer the loss.

The car's driver and passenger was almost indistinguishable from each-other. Both were filthy and clad in rags with shaved heads. Graspin' the buggy's frame, the passenger stood up and leant on the edge of his seat. In his free hand he waved a long, metal pole with a jagged spike tied t' the end at Max, his mouth open and teeth bared.

Max looked away, his eyes returning to the road. The buggy's driver was no fool. The two cars might'a closed in on both sides, but the heavy V8 could end the buggy with one swipe. The driver kept it at a safe distance, wary of a surprise attack. Yet inch by inch, the gap on either side between the cars grew smaller. The rouge wasters just had t' keep the V8 hemmed in until the third member of their party caught up.

Bearin' down on Max and The Girl from behind, was another muscle car. The old V8 was painted a dusty red, the tyres worn and fraying. The cabin was packed full and the passengers banged their fists against the panelling as it crept closer. The car's bonnet had been removed and it's chromed engine glinted in the sun, the tiny parts moving in a blinding spectacle. As power coursed through it's being, the car roared it's challenge at it's black counterpart. Max could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end at the sound of the other car, but it was it's bite, not it's bark, that held his attention.

Welded to the red V8's front was a steel jaw of death. Two solid metal bars ran along the front'a the vehicle, coming out and meeting in the middle like a plough. The ram's heavy frame was reinforced against the front of the car giving it the strength to smash an enemy to pieces like it was nothin'. Worse still, the engine had a nitrous tank hooked up, ready at the driver's whim. Once the distance was closed, the driver could flick the switch and the car would spring forward, catchin' the black V8 in the back and punching straight through.

Max calmly watched the pursuing car's approach in the side mirror for a few more seconds. He briefly brought his attention back to the road ahead, before looking over at The Girl. The Girl turned to face him and their eyes met. Several seconds passed as they held each-other's gaze.

Without a word, Max returned his focus to the road. The Girl twisted in her seat and reached around behind her. Bolted t' the inside'a the car on the passenger's left was a powerful spear gun. The Girl unhooked it from it's clamp and pulled the cap off the spear's sharp end. The spear was nothing special, only roughly forged iron, but it was the tip that made it deadly. It had a wide, flat head designed to pierce through an enemy's hide with ease yet hold firm when tugged on.

With practised precision, The Girl quickly loaded the spear gun and rested it against her shoulder. A short metal cable, only a few meters long, was attached t' the spear's other end. The Girl clipped the loose end to a metal loop attached t' the car's frame before opening the window.

The ute's driver looked over and his eyes widened in alarm at the sight. The Girl braced her knee against the car's door and leant out'a the window, lining the yellow pick up in her sights. The feral driver yelled something at his passenger and ducked his head down behind the door as The Girl pulled the trigger. With a sharp _twang_ , the harpoon shot forwards and buried itself in the ute's frame, jus' behind the door. The driver glanced up cautiously before lookin' around at where the spear had pierced his ride. His confused expression was quickly replaced by one of amused scorn. Glancing over at The Girl, he pulled his lips back in an ugly sneer, thinking she'd missed the door, or even his head. The Girl didn't catch his reaction. She was already climbing over her miniature seat into the car's rear. A small smile played on her face. She'd hit her mark.

The metal cable secured to the inside of the black V8 rapidly wound out as the cars moved and became taut. Max felt it pull on the car as the line stretched out, but the spear head stayed firmly embedded in the ute. It's driver tensed, expecting Max to try to pull the ute off the road or into the encroaching V8's path. The driver watched him intently, but Max kept his gaze forward and stayed his car's course. The driver's expression changed to confusion once more and he looked back at the red V8's driver, as if waitin' on instructions.

As the pursuing V8 drew closer, The Girl moved t' the rear of the car's interior. The back seats had long since been removed, the rear now serving as a storage space. A large, round tank made'a hard plastic took up half the boot, it's bulk occupying the space where the rear window had once sat. The rest of the open boot space had been covered up by a few four-by-twos clipped together. The three boards sat with one end resting at the rear of the car against the boot's frame, secured to the floor by a metal hinge. Everyday items were strapped t' the boards on the outside; a metal bucket, a thick chain, a tool bag and the like, all covered in a heavy net t' keep them secure. The other end of the boards poked up and sat under the lip of the window space, rather than resting on top. A metal clip secured t' the roof's underside held the boards up with a heavy bolt.

All manner of tools and weapons were strapped t' the interior of the car's walls and roof. As The Girl quickly moved t' crouch next t' the boards blockin' the rear window space, she drew a bright orange flare gun from a holster nailed t' the wall. The flare gun at the ready, she reached up and grasped the metal bolt holding the boards up, waiting.

Seconds crawled by as Max watched the red V8 close the last few meters it needed t' catch them in it's trap. The Girl breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth calmly. Timing was everythin'.

' _Now!_ ' Max roared.

The Girl let out a grunt and pulled hard on the metal bolt, releasin' the clip that held the boards up. Swinging down on the hinge nailed at the base, the four-by-twos landed with a loud _bang_ flat on the car's floor, leavin' a half-foot by half again opening in the rear window beside the tank. The Girl moved t' the space and raised the flare gun. She caught a brief glimpse of the V8 driver's surprised expression before she pulled the trigger and fired point blank.

The flare hit the windscreen dead on and exploded into a cloud of red smoke completely obscurin' the driver's vision. Panicked, the raider hit the nitrous and the car shot forwards towards Max and the Girl. Just as she'd fired the flare, Max yanked the steering wheel down to the right as hard as he could, flingin' them towards the buggy. The driver saw him comin', but reacted too slow at the black V8's sudden change'a direction. The buggy couldn't turn away quick enough and the heavy muscle car clipped the front wheel as it went by, sending it spinning out'a control. The passenger went flying as the buggy began to roll rapidly along the ground, the driver just barely hanging on. Before the ute's driver could pull the other way, the metal cable tying the car's together dragged the pick up truck into the centre of the road... right into the path'a the charging ram.

The Girl lunged forward over her seat and pressed the release on the loop securin' the line. The metal cable flew out the windowjust in time, as the the red muscle car struck the pick up.

With an ear-splittin' screech of metal against metal, the V8 smashed into the off course ute, catchin' it in the side. The force'a the impact warped the yellow car's shape like it was made'a rubber and bent it completely around the muscle car's front. The V8's window exploded outward in a shower of glass as the passenger went flying to land face first on the road. The ram's charge dragged the two fused cars over earthen ground before they slowed to a halt.

The Girl climbed back into her seat and yanked a home-made machete out of a slot set into the passenger's door. Max hit the brakes and the car's tyres whirred loudly over the red dirt as they slowed t' stop near the wreckage of the two cars.

Max drew his shotgun and jumped out'a the car, movin' towards the eight cylinder battering ram.

'The buggy!' He called unnecessarily to The Girl. She was already moving around the black car and runnin' back towards where the buggy lay in a heap by the side of the road. As she hurried down the track, a high-pitched wail came from behind, followed quickly by a wet _squelch_.

The sun beat down from above and The Girl's breathing quickened as she ran. She reached up t' wipe the sweat from her forehead on the sleeve of her shirt, a long-sleeved, black cott'n tee. Over this, she wore a red flannel, all but the top two buttons down up with the sleeves rolled up just below her elbows. The top layer she wore was a heavy kevlar vest.

Max had salvaged it from a wreck and but had found it was too small for him. Rather than tradin' it, he had passed it on to The Girl. Once she had grown a bit more, it turned out t' be a sure fit. The right shoulder guard was missing, but it was otherwise intact, the perfect protection for life on the road. In addition t' the strong kevlar weave, a hard ceramic plate was sewn into the back. It was coloured a dusty camo, a light mix of yellows and browns. The collar of The Girl's flannel was popped above the vest's neck line, and tied around her neck was a black cott'n scarf, tucked into her shirt front.

The Girl's left hand, the hand that held the machete, was protected by a child's skating wrist guard. It was made for the right hand, but she wore it inverted on her left so the black plastic guard protected the back of her hand. From the same protective gear set, The Girl wore an elbow guard over her right arm. Her right hand was covered by a leather motorcycle glove. It's lining had been removed and the fingers cut off to give her hand greater freedom. The glove ended abruptly at the base of her hand and an elastic strap had been stitched on the inside t' keep the fit snug.

Her pants were black leather, sleek, smooth and tight, but strong and well crafted. A cap made'a two pieces of grey scrap was stitched over her left knee and joined together by a minute hinge, providin' protection, while allowing her leg to move normally.

A Glock 19 sat snugly against The Girl's chest in a holster she wore over her armour. The holster's straps ran over her left shoulder and around her back to keep it secure and within easy reach. The gun was already loaded with a round in the chamber. Max had taught her t' care for the weapon and he made sure she cleaned and oiled it regularly. The Girl drew the pistol and held it ready in her free hand as she approached the buggy.

The lightly built vehicle lay ruined beside the dirt road. Black smoke was pouring out from the small engine at the rear. The Girl moved slowly around the back of the car towards the driver's seat, gun raised. As she came up on the car's right, she caught sight of the driver still seated in the car and tensed up.

He lay unmoving at the wheel with his head back. Blood ran in red tendrils across his face from an ugly wound to his temple. The Girl stopped before the waster, watching him cautiously. Other than the steady drip, drip, drip of the blood runnin' down his arm t' fall from his fingers to the ground below, he didn't move. The Girl reached out with her left arm and jabbed him hard in the shoulder with the machete, before jumpin' back out'a reach, the pistol aimed at his face. The once-crazed raider didn't react. The Girl frowned, leant in and smacked him hard on the head with the flat of the blade. Still nothing.

The Girl quickly shoved her pistol back into it's holster and grabbed the man by the front'a his filthy shirt. She pulled him out'a the car where he landed face down in the dirt. The Girl kept the machete raised, but the man lay in a still heap at her feet. Somethin' moved in the corner of her eye and The Girl glanced back over her shoulder. The buggy's passenger had sat up and was slowly gettin' to his feet from where he'd landed after being flung from inside the car.

The Girl turned away and bent t' check under the driver's seat fer anything valuable. The injured waster was nothing to be concerned about. Even if he did manage t' stand up, she'd be long gone before he reached her. In the shape he was in, there was no way he'd catch-

The Girl jumped and smacked her head on the buggy's frame as she felt something grab hold of her ankle. Her heart beating fast, she ducked back out of the buggy and looked down. The buggy's driver had latched onto her left foot with one hand. Without hesitatin', The Girl swung the machete down into his wrist with a fierce yell. The sharp blade bit through the cloth wrappings the waster wore and sunk halfway into the man's arm. The driver didn't move but his grip was just as strong.

 _No reaction. Was that just a reflex?_

The Girl tried to pull her foot up, but the raider was holdin' onto her heel like a vice and he'd managed to twist his fingers up with the laces of her boot. The Girl let out a frustrated scream through her teeth and kicked the man in the head with her other foot, but he remained stubbornly still, his fingers not slackin' in the slightest. Growling deep in her throat, The Girl bent to retrieve the machete. The home-made weapon was no real blade, only a rectangular shaped piece of scrap metal that had been honed until it held an edge. It didn't move when she pulled up. It was stuck fast in the driver's arm.

 _Oh, you've gotta be..._

Panic began t' set in and The Girl looked back at the buggy's passenger behind her. He'd pulled himself to his feet and had begun t' stumble towards her. In one hand, the man dragged the metal spear over the dirt behind him. His going was slow, he wasn't putting weight on his left leg, but as she watched, his expression changed and he was spurred on by the sight of her caught and trapped. The Girl bit her lip. She didn't want to have t' waste a bullet on a man with, literally, one foot in the dirt.

Forcin' herself t' breath evenly, The Girl turned away from the raider slowly breakin' the distance between them. She ducked her head back inside the buggy and began t' quickly shift through the items inside, ignorin' the pressure on her ankle. She reached under the driver's seat once more and pulled out a tattered pillow case, weighed down by it's heavy contents. The Girl picked it up by the corners and up-ended the sack onto the car's floor. Out tumbled a couple'a tin cans, unopened and rust free, a pistol missing the barrel slide, a wooden die painted white and several knuckle bones. The Girl grabbed the tins and dropped them on the ground beside her, aimin' fer the driver's head as they fell. She left the pistol where it lay and ignored the knuckle bones. Goodness knows what, or who, they had once belonged to.

A small, plastic tool box had been nailed under the steering wheel to serve as a makeshift glove box. The Girl chanced a look back t' check the waster's approach as she stuck her hand inside. He was gaining fast, using the pole t' push himself forward. Despite his injuries, his eyes glittered with a manic light and he let out a high-pitched bark of laughter.

As The Girl watched the reaver, her fingers grasped something hard in the tool box. Another die. _Useless_. Discarding the die, she reached back in and pulled out a string of teeth hung on a leather strap to be worn like a necklace. _That's just sick_.She threw the teeth over her shoulder while her other hand closed around something round, squishy and wet. Upon further inspection, it proved to be a human toe. _Why!_

Just as she was about t' leave the buggy and have another go and freeing her foot, her knuckles brushed against something hard. The Girl gasped in surprise. Her body trembled in excitement as she pulled her arm out of the car's interior and opened her fingers to gaze at her prize. Sittin' in the palm of her hand was a small, flat tin. The Girl closed her eyes, her mouth open slightly, and clasped the tin to her chest with both hands before tuckin' it into one of her vest pockets.

 _Please be fish_.

Ignoring the spear-wielder's fast approach, The Girl crouched down t' free herself from the driver's post-mortem grip. Over her right foot she wore a motorcycle boot made of thick leather with a hard sole. The boot ran up her leg to her knee where it flared out into three leather flaps. A line of stitching ran up the back of the leg to keep it tight. The Girl loved to run her hands over the smooth, brown leather. Her other shoe was an unremarkable hiking boot, riddled with holes and a base that was almost worn through. Given the choice, she knew which of the two she'd be willing t' lose.

A long bowie knife was secured t' the outside of her right shin, the sheath's straps wrapped around the high boot. The Girl drew the knife and began t' cut the laces of her hiking boot apart. Under Max's instruction, she kept the knife sharp and ready to use, but she didn't have a second t' waste slicing first through the driver's sleeve and then through the tendons in his wrist.

Once she'd cut the laces down the length of her shoe, The Girl stood and strained against the driver's grip. Cutting open the boot gave her foot just enough slack t' slip through and The Girl jumped back a moment later, arms wavin' through the air as she tried t' steady herself, finally free.

Darting forward, The Girl grabbed the two tins she'd found then took hold'a the machete's leather wrapped hilt. She clenched her teeth, pulled hard and managed to wrench it out. The buggy's passenger cried out in anger and frustration and clumsily threw the spear towards her, but The Girl had already skipped away around the buggy. Leavin' her discarded boot in the dead waster's grip, she ran back down the road towards the black muscle car, hopping forward every time her bare foot touched the hot ground.

Max stood next t' the wreckage o' the red muscle car, soakin' a rag hung on the end of a crowbar in gasoline from a small can. He'd pried the petrol valve of the V8 open a moment before and salvaged as much as he could. A couple of the car's occupants, those who'd managed t' survive the crash, lay unmoving on the ground around him amongst the dirt and broken glass. At his feet were several useful items he'd managed to salvage from the red car; A coil of rope, a half full canteen and a couple'a lighters that still had a thimble-full of fluid left. The ute had been too bent out'a shape to get inside. He looked up from his work as The Girl ran up to him.

Max's heavy face had deep lines across his forehead and the corners of his eyelids were as crinkled as the pick up's panelling. His hair was cropped short, The Girl was gettin' better at cutting it each time. Dark, except for a streak'a silver on either side. The Girl had once joked that even his hair was chromed. At the time, he'd only grunted in response, but he hadn't quite been able to ever forgive her for the remark.

As he looked down at her, The Girl held out the two tins. Her face broke into a wide smile, her white teeth a stark contrast to her tanned skin. Max pursed his lips together from behind his salt-and-pepper beard and raised one eyebrow as his gaze drifted down to her bare foot. The Girl shrugged, still grinning.

Max turned back t' the V8 and poked the sodden rag down into the petrol valve as The Girl bent down and quickly gathered up the items he'd found. She slung the rope over her shoulder, stuck the canteen under one arm, pocketed one of the lighters before straightenin' back up. Max passed her the can'a guzzeline and she swapped him the second lighter in return. Turning on her heel, The Girl quickly ran back to their own car, dumpin' the loot carelessly into the back. She stretched over t' the driver's side and reached for the keys in the ignition.

Max held the small flame of the lighter up t' the rag and it light up immediately. Sliding the crowbar into a loop on his belt, he jogged over t' the driver's side of the black V8 as The Girl awakened the machine once more. Max slid inside and shifted the car into first, as The Girl settled back in her own seat.

The car moved quickly down the road away from the crash. As it gained speed, a few seconds passed where the only sound was the whir of it's fierce engine. Then suddenly, a loud and violent roar sounded behind them and a red fire ball exploded upwards from the wreckage the pair had left in their wake. The two cars were consumed behind a screen of black smoke and dancin', orange flame. The Girl watched the burning crash site grow smaller and smaller in the side mirror, but Max kept his eyes on the road ahead.

He'd seen it before.

The wheels of the V8 kicked up a cloud'a dust as it flew down the dirt road, but the swirl of red couldn't quite obscure the car's number plate. Hand written in white and painted over black tar it read:

NEXTV8


	3. Chapter 2

13 Years Ago

The Girl wouldn't stop crying.

Her wail was like the shriek'a some hellspawn, sent t' inflict another torment upon the already accursed denizens of the Wasteland. The Girl's face was red and puffed up. Her little hands were balled into fists, swingin' through the air. From her tiny mouth came an unending cacophony of distress. Max's patience had reached its limit.

The black V8 was parked on the white sand bed of an ocean long gone. The land around them was a maze of twisted rocks and stubs'a coral, bleached white under the sun. Navigatin' the sea bed was tricky; it seemed like every second turn led to a dead end. For Max, it was the perfect place t' hide unseen. The brittle rock was filled with holes, some no smaller than your finger, others large enough for a car t' fit inside and still have room t' walk about. Max had thought it the ideal place t' lay low and recuperate. That was before The Girl had started t' cry.

Max paced back 'n' forth in the mouth'a the cave. His legs jerked as he beat the steps down inta the sand, one after the other, then a quick turn and back the other way he went. The car was parked in the middle of a wide cavern. The lip of the cave's entrance was only a few inches above his head, but as it opened up, the ceiling sloped upwards to a height that he wouldn't be able t' touch, even standin' on the roof of his car.

The Girl's wails echoed around the domed interior, only servin' t' add t' the din. She lay on her back on the hood'a the car, over the blanket he'd wrapped her in when he'd taken her from the wreckage the day before. Max had been keen t' put as much distance between them and the three trashed vehicles as possible. For the first night, The Girl hadn't been any trouble. Hadn't even fussed, jus' sat in the seat beside him lookin' around, gurglin' every once in a while. She'd curled up under the blanket and fallen asleep eventually. Max had still been in a daze about what he was doing, but so far things hadn't seemed so bad.

Then the crying had started.

The sun's first rays were creepin' over the white landscape, as The Girl raised her head from the seat and began t' sniff. Max was weaving the car through the rocky forest of the sea bed and he noticed it first as a soft mewling. It didn't stay soft for long. By the time he'd found an alcove discreet enough t' hide away in, The Girl was full blown bawlin'. He'd set her on the hood of the car and tried t' quieten her, but she'd proved inconsolable. That had been some time during the early morning hours. Now the sun was slowly makin' its way back down beneath the horizon. The Girl's crying was reverberatin' though Max' skull. He seemed t' feel it, rather than hear it. It was like a line'a metal pipes had been stuck in his head and some crazy was beatin' on them ceaselessly. He'd had enough.

Breakin' his repetitive stride, Max stalked over t' the car. The Girl didn't stop crying as he stood over her. She was too intent on squallin' her guts out.

 _Shut up._

Max was breathing quickly through his nose, his chest rapidly rising and falling. His head ached from the constant noise. His plan was t' hide in the maze of stone fer a few days t' rest up. He already hadn't slept since the night before last. And he'd never sleep with this racket.

 _Shut up._

Max felt a rough growl rising in his throat. The gravelly sound rose and fell in time with The Girl's wails. His mind was rapidly blockin' off everything else. There was only the ceaseless clamour of the brat before him, and the fuse rapidly burnin' out in his head.

 _Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutup_

When she didn't stop, Max snapped. A strangled yell burst from his lips and he slammed the palms of his hands down onto the car's bonnet on either side'a The Girl. The Girl jolted in alarm, but her screaming didn't break off. Max leant over her and began t' beat his hands against the metal bonnet, adding more to the echoing noise. Max screamed in frustration above her, but The Girl only wailed even louder. Max hadn't thought it possible, but her increased volume was the proof. The seconds crept by and on and on they yelled together.

With one final _BANG_ , Max brought his hands down on the car before pushin' himself upright. He swallowed hard and tried t' focus his mind. His head still ached and his eyes were twitchin'. Max cracked his neck with one hand and took a deep breath.

This had been a mistake. He should have left The Girl t' die beside her mother. In a moment'a weakness he had given in t' the hope that he would be granted a reprieve from his past. This child was not the path to a release. There was no point 'n takin' her with him. She would only slow him down. It would be years before she could be of any use t' him and even then... he knew what would befall her if she stayed close to him. He had seen it happen. No, this ends now.

Willing himself t' shut the noise out, Max reached down and grabbed The Girl by the dirty shirt she wore. The Girl's cries were cut off as Max yanked her inta the air and carried her around the side'a the car. Max stopped beside the passenger's door and turned away from the car. The Girl squirmed in his grip, her sobs coming in broken bursts as she swung from his hand. Max stared blankly at the rocky wall straight ahead.

 _This is a better way, a kinder way. She isn't strong enough to survive._

Max stretched his arm out before him, closed his eyes, and let go.

Several unexpected things happened at once. His fingers released their hold on The Girl's shirt and he felt the cloth run over his skin as she fell towards the ground. At the same time, his arm was jerked downwards, pulled by somethin' grippin' his wrist. Most notably however, was the stillness that gripped the air. Silence. The Girl had stopped crying. Instead, a small, squeaking sound echoed faintly around the cave.

Max opened his eyes. Just as he'd let The Girl fall, she had reached up and grabbed hold of his sleeve. She was swinging from his outstretched arm, her legs kickin' the air above the ground, the leather cuff held in a tight grip. Her tiny cheeks were still wet and puffy, but her eyes were wide open. As she swung from his wrist, she turned towards the mouth of the cave and the sun caught her eyes, it's light reflected in them. Her small mouth had twisted into a grin that spread across her face. The sound was coming from her. A breathless squeak. What was that? And then it hit him.

Laughter. The Girl was laughin'. For the first time in who knows how long, children's laughter was heard in the Wasteland. Max Rockatansky was standin' alone with the only laughin' child in the land. Her amusement washed over Max and was too much for him. A short, breathy cough escaped from between his lips. Then another, and another. By the time Max realised that he was chucklin' alongside The Girl, he couldn't stop.

 _What fresh madness is this? Two people laughing to themselves without any care. Is this the first genuine laugh someone has had since the world ended?_

At the sound of his laugh, The Girl looked up at Max. Her eyes seemed t' study him, as she hung from his cuff.

Black eyes.

Not black like the soft touch of leather, nor the worn paint that blanketed his car. Black like the night sky, the blackest black, yet in such darkness, a twinkle. A light.

Bright eyes.

In those eyes he saw a light, and a will. Max had been wrong. _This_ would be the mistake.

Max reached around with his free hand and lifted The Girl up. He held her in front of his face, watchin' the way her eyes moved, studying her. She was still giggling, a smile playin' on her face. Max breathed in and out through his nose. Maybe, just maybe. And it was in that moment, that Max decided he would keep The Girl. He would raise her, but never care for her. Guard her, but never rescue her. Fight with her, but never die for her. Her death wouldn't be on his conscious. He couldn't, wouldn't, let that happen again. He-

'Having trouble with your runt, friend?'

Max spun around towards the sound, tightenin' his grip on The Girl. Five men were standing just inside the mouth'a the cave. Their clothes were light and hung loosely over their lean frames. On their dirty feet they wore leather sandals. All five wore floppy hats, with a wide brim t' shield themselves from the harsh sun. Each had a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face. A variety of sunglasses were worn by the men, a different style fer each. Except fer a couple'a knives, none were armed. The man who stood in the middle of the group reached up and pulled his scarf down under his chin.

'Having some trouble, friend?' he asked again, his voice markin' him out as the one who had spoken before.

Max held The Girl close to his chest and didn't respond. Not a group drifters like him. Locals. People that lived in the empty seabed weedin' out an existence. As he stared at the group before him, The Girl mewled softly in his grip, threatenin' t' burst into tears again.

Not waiting for Max's answer, the man in the middle told him, 'I've been saying t' the lads all day, "Goodness me! Someone, somewhere out here is causin' quite a ruckus!"

'And here you are! Doesn't look like ya havin' an easy time there mate. We'd be happy t' take her off your hands' he added with a crooked smile.

Max moved carefully, walkin' sideways around t' the car's front, the group of men watchin' him hungrily. Twistin' one arm around behind him, Max placed The Girl back on the bonnet whilst he kept his gaze fixed forward. The Girl let out a weak sob, but Max didn't care about that now. Straightening his shoulders, Max licked his lips and managed t' find his voice.

'...Not for sale.'

The middle man took off his sunnies, a pair of highway patrolman glasses with wide frames. He looked down and rubbed the hem of his dusty poncho over the glass lenses. For a few, moments he didn't respond, however once he had slipped the shades over his eyes once more, he looked back up at Max and let out a soft sigh.

'Afraid we'll be takin' her anyway,' he said, almost sadly.

At a jerk from the middle man's head, two of the others stepped forward. One wore a pair of sunglasses with round, dark lenses so small, they barely covered his eyes. The other wore a pair of flashy sports shades with a single, wide, rectangular lens. Max tensed, his right hand hovering over the grip of his shotgun. One bullet against five men. Bad odds.

Sports drew a shiv made from a jagged piece'a broken metal from the inside of his jacket, but Boho Shades merely raised his fists. The pair walked towards him slowly, but confidently. Max bent his knees and watched them approach.

 _Just two, the other three are hanging back, for now anyway. He'll feint with his knife to open me up while the other tries to get me in a hold so he can gut me easy._

When less than a meter of distance was between them, Sports jumped forward, the knife stretched out before him. Max lunged t' meet him, but his instincts had been right. Sports stopped himself short before he and Max could meet, but Max had already moved aside towards the other man instead. Boho swung his arms wide, ready t' tackle Max, but the Road Warrior moved in faster than he could react. Max's fist shot out and connected hard with a sickening _crunch_ against Boho's nose. Boho stumbled back, screaming in pain, his watery eyes screwed up and blood pumpin' from his broken nose. At the sound of the man's yell, The Girl began t' wail once more. Max whipped around as Sports plunged the knife towards his flank, but Max was too quick. He moved to the side towards Sports, moving in past the killer's reach. Max grabbed his wrist and held the knife away from him, while he brought his other arm up and jabbed his elbow into the man's throat. Sports' eyes widened from behind his sunglasses, spittle flying from his mouth as he gasped for breath. Max's elbow struck out again, this time catchin' Sports in the bridge of his nose and breaking his sunglasses against his face. Still holdin' onta his wrist with one hand, Max twisted his body side on against the waster's and threw him over his hip. He knelt one knee against Sports' back and with one quick pull, broke the man's arm. Max snatched up the waster's knife just as the other three ran t' join the fray.

The group's leader slashed his knife at Max's side but wasn't able t' penetrate the strong leather. Max jabbed the shiv at the man's face, but the leader had already jumped back out'a reach, his face twisted in fury. He'd done this before. Max turned t' face the next attacker, a man wearing sunglasses with lenses so wide he resembled some sort of insect, but he was too slow. Bug Eyes raked his shiv along Max's chest and he felt it catch on his shirt. Max moved around to the man's side, tryin' to put some distance between them. He could feel the hot air on his chest from the slice in his shirt, but didn't think the strike had cut his skin open. The third man rushed head on at Max, his hands empty, and Max saw his chance.

Max twisted sideways against the man's bull rush and got behind him. Knowing his back would be briefly exposed t' the other two, Max quickly wrapped his arm around the man's throat cutting off the air, and spun him around back towards the remaining wasters. The stolen shiv flashed downwards and Max buried it in the man's neck. He quickly released his grip as Bug Eyes rushed at them. Max kicked the man in the small of his back, pushing him forward. He fell crashing onto Bug Eyes and the two'a them went down together.

The leader jabbed at Max again, but this time he was ready for it. Max moved forward, caught hold of his wrist in one hand, and drew his own knife. The waster tried t' pull back, but Max yanked his arm straight up. Before the leader could make a move t' stop him, Max plunged his knife into the man's exposed armpit, pushing the steel down to the hilt. Max felt the man's body shudder against his hand and warm blood began t' spill out from the wound. When he pushed the group's leader away, he fell back onto the sand and didn't move.

Max drew his shotgun and walked over t' where Bug Eyes had fallen. The waster was still trying t' pull himself out from beneath his friend's immobile corpse. Max smashed the shotgun's stock into Bug Eyes temple once, twice, three times, enough to stop his strugglin'.

Max straightened up again, his chest movin' up and down as he took deep, ragged breaths. His eyes drifted over the bodies around him. Somethin' wasn't right. Where was Boho Shades?

Behind him, the pitch of The Girl's screams changed suddenly, and Max whipped around. Boho had her with one hand by her shirt. Max's shotgun was still in his hand.

'No!' he cried, springin' towards them.

At the sound of his voice, both Boho and The Girl turned t' look at Max. Boho's face was red with anger. The scarf that covered his skin had fallen away. The waster opened his mouth t' tell Max t' 'Stop', but Max was already bringin' his shotgun up. The gun's barrel clipped the waster's chin and drew level with his eyes. In the split second before he pulled trigger, Max's eyes flicked over t' The Girl. In an enclosed space like this, what would a gunshot do t' her hearing? Max would have shaken his head at his indecision, but there was no time. Instead of firing the shot, Max shoved the metal barrel into Boho's open mouth.

The waster gave a muffled cry as the gun was pushed in, breaking his teeth as it went. Max forced it further back towards his throat. Boho let go of The Girl and grabbed onto Max's wrists, gaggin' on the barrel as he tried t' push him off. The Girl hit the ground and began to cry harder. Max saw red. He released his grip on the shotgun's stock and kicked Boho's legs out from under him. The waster's head hit the ground with a smack and a moment later, Max brought his boot down upon Boho's skull. Max moved his leg up and down in a series of squelching crunches. He continued t' stomp on the waster's head long after he stopped moving, reducin' his skull to a pile of red mush.

It was The Girl's crying that brought him back to his senses. He looked around at where she'd fallen after Boho had dropped her. She was sitting up, her mouth open in a wail and tears streamin' down her cheeks. Max moved t' pick her up and almost fell on top of her, his foot sliding on the waster's ruined mess of brain.

Max lifted The Girl up under her arms and sat her on the bonnet once more. He tried consoling her, but his head was still spinning from the fight.

Max blinked, trying t' focus on The Girl's face.

'Shh... 's alright,' he finally managed to say.

He brushed his large thumb along her cheek t' wipe the tears away. His hand left a smear'a red on The Girl's face.

Blood.

There was blood on The Girl. Why was there blood? Where did it come from? Max glanced around, panicked. He looked down and saw that his hands were wet with it. Blood from piercin' the scavenger's neck, blood from stickin' the leader in the side. There was blood all over his hands, soaking into The Girl's shirt as he held her, along her arms and now her face. The Girl looked up at him, her expression fearful. She was too young t' understand what had happened, but the noise of the fight, the yelling, and now the blood. Small wonder she was afraid.

'No. No, no, no,' Max said in a small voice, shaking his head, 'nononononono!'

He gently held The Girl's face and shook his head again, unable t' find the words, his hands spreadin' more blood over her skin. Max's gaze drifted down t' The Girl's hands. They were stained red.

 _No..._

His hands were wet, but the blood on The Girl's hands was dry.

 _How... When..._

Then Max realised where it had come from. The blood on The Girl's hands was her mother's.

2\. Max and The Girl

Time has little meanin' in the Wasteland. Out here, it's measured in marks on a wall, or in the case of Max and The Girl; 'days past since'; 'Three days past since we made that stop', 'Eight days past since we took that prize' and so on until enough days had passed that their number could no longer be recalled. Then they'd come across someone new, or make a pit-stop in another place, and the count would begin again.

The sun was setting on the second day since the pair had been set upon by the wasters on the desert road. The path Max led the V8 down was still the same dusty trail. The Girl sat in the passenger seat and looked out at the land as it passed them by. An unbroken flat of arid expanse stretched out t' the horizon. Red earth hadn't yet given way t' white sand or cracked asphalt. As the sun slipped closer t' the horizon, the sky behind them was painted a burnin' shade'a red. It's last rays peeked through the gaps in the boarded up rear window and flashed off the car's mirrors. Ahead, night was creepin' t'wards them, changin' the sky gradually from blue, t' navy, and finally black.

Max slowed the car as darkness fell over the land, but didn't stop. Too exposed t' rest here, and he had at least another night in 'im. He kept the car movin', staring ahead, determined t' keep his head from drooping forward. The Girl didn't move from her seat beside Max. Above them, the moon was risin' into the sky, floodin' the dark desert in its soft light.

The Girl fell in 'n' out of a doze as the night wore on. Every hour or so, the car would drive over a bump or a dip 'n the road and she'd be jolted awake t' spend a half hour blinkin' sleepily at the shrouded land around them, before slidin' down in her seat and fallin' asleep once more.

Dawn had broken when The Girl woke from her doze fer the last time that night. She stretched and sat up, blinkin' into the day's first rays. Stifling a yawn, she rubbed the pain in her belly. The ache that sat twisting inside was, along with Max, her constant companion. She'd known hunger her whole life and was used to it. The las' time she'd eaten had been the day before the group of raiders had attacked them, and Max had gone without for longer still. Yet sooner or later, they would need to eat.

The Girl looked over at Max. The aged wanderer's eyelids were puffy and half closed, but he gripped the steering wheel firmly with both hands. He hadn't stopped the car once during the night. The Girl coughed once and cleared her throat.

'I'm hungry, Max', she told him, her voice hoarse from disuse.

'Not today,' he replied simply. And that was that.

The Girl turned back t' face forward once more. She wore a large, round canteen in a pouch on her right thigh. The rule was that anything in her canteen, was hers t' have at any time, but Max had impressed upon her the need to abstain and drink only as necessary years ago. She unscrewed the cap and took a swallow, but it did little t' sooth the ache in her stomach.

...

They passed the day in silence. The sun rose above them t' heat the metal roof of the car, makin' it stifling inside. They rolled the windows down, but otherwise sat still, watchin' the land go by, the V8's engine the only noise t' be heard for miles around. It wasn't until the sun had passed over their heads and was beatin' down on the car's tail end in the late afternoon, did The Girl stir. She crossed her arms and breathed out in a bored sigh. Max kept his gaze forward. Rolling her head onto her shoulder, The Girl looked at him. She stuck out her jaw and exhaled heavily, blowing the air up into her face. Max's mouth tightened slightly, but otherwise ignored her. He was content t' pass day after day on the road in silence. The Girl had grown up fast under Max's protection, but at no stage in the time they had travelled together had she let him forget that she was still a child.

Eliciting no response from her companion, the young girl looked away and sighed heavily, as if the weight'a the world rested on her shoulders. A short pause, then The Girl uncrossed her arms, twisted her body and climbed into the back seat. A small mattress was spread out on the car floor. It sat in the space between the front seats and the large tank of guzzeline secured into the boot, with just enough room for someone t' curl up on. An old and threadbare blanket was spread out over the mattress. It was so aged that the ends were fraying, but The Girl refused t' get rid of it and Max had stopped pressing her on the issue a long time ago.

Secured t' the interior walls and roof all around her was an impressive collection of different tools and weapons. Either tied down with leather straps or sittin' safe in a snug pouch, everything from a full set of spanners, t' knives of every shape and length imaginable. Running the length'a the car, in the middle of the roof, was a long, narrow drawstring pouch. A bolt action rifle was kept in the protective bag, and the pouch stayed secure by two sets'a leathers straps nailed t' the roof. Another plastic tank was fixed t' the rear at the back'a the cabin, just under where the tank that held their spare guzzeline jutted inside from the boot. The second was smaller than the one that sat in the boot and, rather than cylindrical, it was shaped like a rectangular prism with rounded corners. The smaller tank was filled with water instead of guzzeline. They'd had a streak of good fortune recently and water hadn't been hard t' find. A stub of cloth was stuffed into the black spigot t' prevent even a drop from being wasted.

The Girl sat cross legged on the blanket, reached under the driver's seat and pulled out an old-fashioned doctor's bag. Made'a brown leather, its contents rattled as The Girl lifted it onto the mattress. She flicked the clasp up, pulled it open and upended the inside onto the blanket. Out tumbled a plethora of firearm ammunition, as varied as it was numerous. The Girl placed the leather bag in front'a her, spread the bullets out, and began t' sort them together, countin' as she went.

All of them had been scavenged over the course'a years from burnt out wrecks or derelict buildings and make shift shelters. A few they had even found hidden in the shoes of would-be killers, after they'd cut the soles open. They came in all shapes and sizes, every kind imaginable. Some they just had a few of each, others The Girl could fill her hands and watch them slip between her fingers like grains'a sand. A while back, they'd raided a lean-to whose resident hadn't hidden it well enough in the gorge they'd been exploring. Among the other possessions taken, they'd found over thirty .22 rounds, no bigger than the last digit of The Girl's pinky finger. Others they'd collected included a handful of large 5.56 cartridges, a few .45 ACP, .357 and .44 a dozen apiece and a battered old box'a 20 gauge shells. The pair kept ammunition they could use on them at all times. Any 12 gauge shells they found or traded for, Max kept t' feed his shotgun. The Girl's pistol was full and she had another spare clip stocked with 9mm rounds. A good supply for now, but they needed more for the rifle. It took .308 and they only had four shots left.

Max glanced up at the rear vision mirror. With the rear window blocked up, it was useless if you wanted t' look back behind the car. Max kept it positioned on an angle so he could keep an eye on The Girl in the back space.

As she shifted through the various bullets, he told her, not for the first time, 'No matter how many times you count them, the number won't change.'

'I know,' she replied flatly, dropping a pair of 10mm rounds into the bag.

Max returned his gaze t' the road, a small smile on his face, as The Girl held up the largest bullet in their collection. It was a .50 calibre cartridge, longer than The Girl's middle finger, enormous compared t' the small arms ammunition. Max called it a 'NATO' round, but the name meant nothing t' The Girl. The pointed tip on the end told her everythin' she needed t' know.

The Girl dropped the .50 calibre round along with everythin' else back into the bag before snappin' it shut and shoving it back under the driver's seat. She leant back on her elbow and sucked her bottom lip, lookin' around at the car's interior. After a few moments, she sat up on her knees and climbed back into the front seat. With nothing else t' do, she pulled the spare clip for her pistol out of one'a the small pockets sewn into her armoured vest and counted the bullets stored inside. She was still two shy of a full magazine. The Girl yawned loudly as she pushed the clip back into its holster. Beside her, Max strained t' keep his mouth shut, a yawn of his own threatening to escape. With one last look at the landscape surrounding them, The Girl climbed into the back once more.

She sat on the mattress and popped the plastic clips on either side of her vest. Loosenin' the straps that secured her pistol's holster, she pulled the vest together with the gun over her head and dropped them onto the car's floor beside her. She unlaced her lone boot and kicked it off, before curlin' up in a tight ball on the mattress under the old blanket. Lastly, The Girl removed her goggles and pushed them into her boot for safe-keeping. She yawned again, closed her eyes, and held the blanket tightly around her. She couldn't remember where it had come from. It was old and thin, but there was somethin' comforting about it. Maybe a smell, but whatever scent that had originally lingered had long since been replaced with the strong stench'a sweat and grease. If The Girl had to put it into words, she would say it was the smell, or at least the echo of how it had once smelt, that she liked.

Once more, the sun began t' dye the sky a blood red. The Girl was asleep within minutes. Max drove onwards, headin' t'wards the bluish-black line in the distance.

...

In what felt like no time at all, Max was shakin' The Girl awake. She blinked sleepily and sat up, runnin' a hand over her face. Dawn was a way off. The sky above was still dark.

'Your turn,' Max said as he stepped out of the driver's seat and walked around to the passenger side.

Stifling a yawn behind one hand, The Girl groped around for her boot. She pulled her goggles out and slipped it on, making sure her knife was secure against her shin. With another wide yawn, she climbed into the front seat and stepped out'a car. The Girl dumped her pistol and vest onto the car's bonnet and reached back inside t' switch the car's headlights on. She pulled off her scarf and shook it out as she took in their surroundings. By the yellow light from the car, she saw that the dusty trail had been replaced by sealed asphalt. Orange dunes rose high on either side'a the road. The sand trickled down t' the road's edge, but stopped short where the ground changed t' asphalt. It seemed this stretch'a road saw more traffic.

The Girl pulled the Kevlar vest over her head before tyin' the cotton scarf around her neck once more. She slung her pistol over one arm and turned back t' the car. Taking the seat behind the wheel, The Girl glanced over at Max before flickin' the lights off. He was sittin' slumped in the passenger seat, his knees bent and his head lolled t' one side with his hands crossed in his lap. Max never slept in the back'a the car. If they came across anything while The Girl was driving, whatever it was, he wanted them t' be able t' swap places as quickly as possible.

The Girl turned the key in the ignition and the engine chugged awake. She grinned, relishing the moment. The sound of the engine whirring in neutral, the steering wheel vibrations runnin' through her hands, and the strong smell'a the leather seat; all of felt surreal. It was one thing t' ride passenger in this car. It was somethin' else entirely t' be the one t' drive it. The Girl pushed her bare foot down on the clutch and shifted inta first.

As they moved down the old highway, she wound her window down t' let the cool night air blow in on her face. She shifted inta top gear and moved her left hand to hold the wheel, restin' her right arm on the windowsill. The only time she was allowed t' drive was when it was Max's turn t' sleep. He slept less often than she did, so when he did, he would sleep for at least half a day.

 _Not nearly enough time._

It wasn't as if The Girl couldn't drive. Max had taught her from a very young age. As tough as he was, eventually he'd need t' sleep, but they needed t' keep moving. Even if she drove at a slow crawl, it was enough for Max t' catch up on some much needed sleep. Never stop, never pause. If they were in the car, they were movin'. The only exception would be if they could find a place t' hide that Max felt was safe enough t' stay. Even then, they would sleep in shifts, and stay no longer than a day.

Though he might not say it, Max knew The Girl was a damn good driver. If he raided a camp solo he would rely on her t' guard the car while she waited for him t' return, or rush t' pick him up if he was discovered and had t' retreat quickly. He knew that she would wake him if she spotted any sign'a danger. In the rare instances when they had been attacked on the road and didn't have time t' swap positions, she'd proven that she could hold her own behind the wheel. The Girl had a keen instinct fer combat and quick reflexes made her a force t' be reckoned with on the road. Credit must be given here t' Max, as she couldn't've wished fer a bett'r teacher. When it came down to it though, it was Max's car. The veteran was a peerless driver and he preferred t' be the one behind the wheel, while The Girl provided him support. Long ago he'd told her, only half jokin', that she would be free t' drive as much as she liked once his corpse was cold. The Girl never complained. Complaints were pointless with Max. Instead, she took what she could get, when she could get it, and always savoured it until it was time t' hand the keys back.

As far as she could tell, nothing but sand lay in every direction. The light of the moon was enough t' drive by and they didn't use the headlights anyway, not unless it was absolutely necessary. When Max did sleep, it was always at night. He'd never admit it, but The Girl knew her night eyes were better than his. The moon was waning in the sky and, while it might be enough for The Girl, it had forced Max t' trade places and rest until the sun rose. The Girl smiled. For the next week or so, until the moon began its cycle again, she'd be at the helm most nights.

 _Unless he starts driving with the headlights on..._

She snorted at the notion. Max was getting, if possible, even more paranoid as he got older.

...

The sun had already risen and midday was fast approachin' when Max finally stirred and lifted his head from his shoulder. With the path ahead clear by the light'a day, The Girl was steerin' the car at top speed. Max stretched, rolled his shoulders and wound his window down, lettin' the breeze blow through the car. He looked around in every direction, checkin' their surroundings.

The sand around the car had flattened, giving an unobstructed view around them. Rolling dunes of orange sand stretched t' the horizon. The sky was clear above them, a vibrant blue that met the ground in a stark contrast of colour.

'See anything in the night?' Max asked her.

'Nothing,' The Girl replied, 'no cars, no camps.'

Almost to herself, she added, 'We are alone.'

Max grunted and looked away. Several minutes passed before he spoke again.

'This is a bad land to linger in,' he told her, 'nothing around for days except sand. Best to keep moving and pass through. But first-'

He pointed to a raised dune about five hundred meters away on The Girl's right.

'-make for that hill.'

Almost in response t' Max's direction, The Girl's stomach grumbled loudly. She grinned, pressed gently on the brake and pulled the wheel down t' the right, steerin' them onto the sand. The tyres whirred loudly as they searched fer a grip. A moment later, The Girl righted the car and the hill began t' grow rapidly closer.

She parked them atop the dune's crest. Barely a second after she had killed the engine, Max jumped out, a pair of binoculars in his hands. The Girl knew it was best t' go along with him. As unlikely as it would be t' run into somebody on this particular dune, Max didn't leave it t' chance. Still, healthy paranoia never hurt anybody. Unless it involved shootin' someone just to be certain they weren't about t' do the same. The Girl climbed into the back'a the car and reached fer the straps securing the rifle t' the roof. Holding it with one hand, she undid the leather strap and climbed out'a the car.

The Girl moved t' stand next t' Max. She opened the bag and pulled the rifle out, dropping the satchel onto the bonnet as she walked 'round the car. Max was frowning behind the binoculars lenses. He turned on the spot as he scanned the land around them, checkin' every direction. The Girl flicked the lens cap off the rifle's scope with a soft _pop_ , resisted imitatin' the noise, and stood beside Max, the rifle at the ready. A long minute passed before he was finally satisfied the area was deserted.

'Alright,' he said in a low voice, 'keep an eye out.'

The Girl pursed her lips, biting back a retort and managed t' keep her eyes from rolling. They'd been doing this together for a long time. She knew the drill. Max passed her the binoculars and she handed over the rifle in exchange. The Girl turned back t' the front'a the car and leant against the bonnet, the binoculars in her hands.

Slinging the rifle over one shoulder, Max walked around t' the rear of the car. He pulled the net off the items secured t' the boards in the boot and began t' rummage around for what he needed, glancin' over his shoulder every few seconds as he did. He gathered up several pieces'a bleached deadwood, along with a small saucepan and a three legged, metal grate. Moving around t' the driver's side, Max arranged the items on the ground t' make a small campfire, before reaching over the driver's seat and into the back to retrieve the small gasoline can and a single tin of canned food.

While Max busied himself with the fire, The Girl looked out at the land around them. Nothing. Only sand and sun. Max was right; it was a bad place t' linger. It would be near impossible t' traverse without a vehicle. The Girl's skin itched and she ran a finger underneath the collar of her shirt. The stench of her sweat filled her nose and she suddenly became hot under her clothes, their weight more than she could bear. She turned and walked over t' the passenger's side and leant through the car's window. From the space in the back she grabbed an old pillow case and shook it out as she moved back t' the front'a the car. She pulled her pistol over her head and carefully placed it in the centre of the bonnet before quickly pulling off her scarf, vest and the shirts underneath. The Girl breathed a deep sigh of relief and stood facin' the sun, eyes shut and arms stretched out, lettin' it's rays wash over her bare chest.

Indulging herself for a few more moments, The Girl turned back t' the car. She placed her elbow and wrist guards atop of her vest and moved the pile next to her pistol. Holding the pillowcase with one hand, she shook out her scarf, shirts and the red strip of silk she wore around her head, before stuffing all of the items inside the cloth sack. She knelt down on the ground, the warm sand pushing out from between her bare toes, and scooped handfuls of orange sand into the pillowcase. Standing upright, she held the opening tightly shut in her fist and began t' shake it as hard as she could, eyes screwed shut and her head turned away.

Max caught the movement in the corner of his eye and looked around.

'I told you to keep watch!' he said loudly.

'I am keeping watch,' The Girl replied, not opening her eyes.

Max glanced around behind him, suppressing the frustration he felt at The Girl's nonchalant attitude. She had never taken survival as seriously as he did. He needed her t' stay sharp, wished she would listen. Her eyes were better than his, otherwise he'd be the one looking out while she prepared the meal. Max turned back t' the simmering saucepan in front of him while the skin on the back of his neck crawled. He breathed deeply and tried t' focus his attention on the task at hand.

The fire moved in a gentle breeze as Max stirred the saucepan's content. He tried the soup before placing the lid over the top. Still cold, however he wouldn't let it get hot enough t' boil. He'd added as much water as they could spare t' the can's condensed ingredients, but would watch it carefully t' make sure no water was wasted as it changed into steam.

The Girl dropped the pillowcase onto the ground beside her and undid the leather strand that held her ponytail back. She pulled the tie loose and shook her hair out, sighing again as she did. She bent down and grabbed two handfuls'a sand and began t' rub it into her scalp.

A couple'a years back, The Girl had finally put her foot down on the subject of her hair. Max had always cut it himself, but he was more concerned for her safety than her appearance. She knew it was a liability and Max said she was asking for some waster to grab her head once she grew her hair out, but she was sick to death of lookin' like some irradiated, half-life child. So she'd let it grow, Max be dammed.

Once she'd finished running her sandy hands through its strands, and was satisfied it was as clean as she could get it usin' sand alone, The Girl leaned forward and rubbed her hands vigorously over her head, getting rid of as much loose sand as possible and tryin' to avoid any slipping into her pants.

Max looked around at her again, before quickly averting his gaze and shakin' his head in frustration and disbelief.

Exhaling loudly, The Girl gathered up more sand and rubbed it over her body scrubbing the sweat and grime away. Down her arms, in her armpits, across her shoulders and along the back of her neck. Once she was done, she shook as much off as she could. She grimaced as her belly twinged and gurgled loudly. Max was still squattin' by the fire. She would only have t' wait a few more minutes for the meal to be ready, but it felt like an eternity. The Girl leant back against the bonnet once more, idly fiddling with one of the belt loops of her pants.

A sudden thought occurred to her and a broad grin spread over The Girl's face as she remembered what she'd found in the wreck of the buggy. She jogged over to the passenger's side'a the car, leant through the window and began t' rummage in the car door's compartment. Her hand closed around the small, round tin she'd found in the buggy's glove box. Grabbing a scratched and bent, metal fork, she climbed onto the car's bonnet and scooted back t' lean against the windshield. The heat radiated outwards from the glass into her back, but it felt good. Anyway, she was too excited t' care. She pressed the small can to her chest between her hands and closed her eyes.

 _Please be fish, please be fish, please be fish._

Holding the fork between her teeth, The Girl pushed the small ring up and looped her finger through. Takin' a deep breath through her nose, she pulled the lid up. The stench that assaulted her senses was immediately recognisable. It wasn't fish, far from it. The Girl's shoulders slumped. She felt like crying, but cryin' never helped anyone. Instead, she took a deep breath, wrinkled her nose and speared a chunk'a the foul smelling meat with her fork. Max glanced over from beside the fire.

'Fish?' he asked quietly.

'Cat,' The Girl replied miserably, swallowin' the meat quickly with a grimace.

Max nodded and turned back t' the fire without another word. Years ago he'd found a tin of salmon in an old bunker, half buried beneath the sands of a desert. Meat from the Old World was rare, and Max had given the tin t' The Girl all for herself. Every time they took a prize she would look for another tin. Cans of meat were rare enough, but fish was damn near impossible t' find. Any meat that did come in a can used to be for animal consumption only. That can'a salmon had just about been the best thing The Girl had ever tasted and they hadn't found another since.

Max lifted the lid off the saucepan and gave the soup another stir. They were in luck. The tin had been one of the two they'd taken from the buggy and it had been a can'a minestrone. Just the thing t' fill their empty stomachs. Max lifted the spoon to his mouth and took a small swallow.

'Put a shirt on,' he told The Girl, glancing sideways at her, 'and grab two cups.'

The Girl scraped the last'a the tin's contents out of a groove in the metal before flinging it away. Swinging her legs off the car, she dropped the fork onto the passenger's seat before walkin' over to where she'd left the pillowcase. She pulled her black t-shirt out and beat the sand off, before turning the shirt right side out and pullin' it down over her head. Max lifted the saucepan off the metal rack and held it out, as The Girl retrieved two metal mugs from the car's interior and knelt beside him.

'Careful, it's hot,' Max warned, as The Girl walked away.

The Girl ate it quickly anyway, eager t' wash the taste of the canned food away. She took her mug around t' the other side of the car and sat in the passenger's seat, her mouth full of minestrone, tryin' t' savour the taste. Max stood beside the fire, takin' slow sips from his own cup. He looked out over the desert and pulled a rag from one of his jacket pockets t' wipe the sweat away from his forehead. Between the midday sun, and the heat'a the fire, he was sweltering. Max squinted his eyes against the sun's glare and brought his free hand up t' shade his face as he watched their surroundings. He'd journeyed through many lands in his time. Now that he had a chance t' look around he couldn't decide if they'd passed through this land before.

Years and years ago, when he first began his journey with The Girl, they'd travelled East. When that path became too treacherous, they turned North for a time, before heading West instead. Until recently, they'd turned South before journeying East once more. Max might have come this way before, decades ago, but he couldn't be sure if The Girl had been with him.

Max shook his head, clearin' the thoughts away. Whatever they found, they'd be ready for it, and if not, they'd simply change their course and go another way. Maybe even further South. Max picked up the empty saucepan and ran his finger around the inside. He didn't offer the pot to The Girl as he sucked soup off his finger. She'd had the tinned food, after all.

'We've lingered here long enough,' Max announced, stowing the saucepan and metal stand at the rear of the car, 'we're leaving.'

The Girl jumped up out'a her seat and quickly moved to collect her belongings at the front'a the car. She shook the sand out of the pillowcase and dressed quickly, as Max kicked sand over the fire. He picked the rifle up and slid it back into its protective pouch, before securin' it to the underside of the car's roof. The Girl closed her vests clasps shut with a _click_ and pulled her gun's harness over her head, makin' sure the pistol was sittin' snugly between her breasts. She'd grabbed her scarf, headband and goggles and hurried back t' the passenger's seat, just as Max turned the key in the ignition.

Max carefully turned the car around t' face the road, before hitting the accelerator hard, sendin' them speeding towards the strip'a black asphalt. He led them down the dune and back onto the road, headin' East. On they went, well rested with full bellies and high spirits.


End file.
